


Does wolfsbane work on mountain lions?

by OneSmartChicken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Technically a rewrite is in the works but I don't know that I'll ever get around to finishing it), Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Crack, F/M, Girl!Stiles, I have no idea it's a work in progress, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Some Fluff, Werewolf!Stiles, stupidly slow romance seriously, very slow, werewolf!kate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:16:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSmartChicken/pseuds/OneSmartChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Laura is alive, and Kate is a werewolf. (And Stiles is a girl.)</p><p>{Name change because Mother Knows Best was an irrelevant title for the most part(I intend for some packmom!stiles-ing but it's not going to feature for a while etc etc) and there's another fic out there by the name which I'm quite fond of. And also it gets that Tangled song stuck in my head whenever I think of it which is inconvenient.</p><p>...the new title doesn't actually make sense but hey whatever it's a title.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't watched much of season two, and I only watched season one once. Since so much is clearly different, I'm not going to even try making it canonically accurate; I'm just going to shove this idea into existence and then probably force it upon unsuspecting people.
> 
> This chapter is basically a replay of the earliest stuff in the show(as my mind recalls.) Some minor edits, and some relatively major ones, but I just wanted to sort of...set the feel of it so I wasn't randomly shoving information awkwardly into places. Expect weird timejumps; I don't intend to linger here since, like I said, it's just to avoid awkward explanations later. I took a lot of artistic liscense mostly because I really don't remember the show that well(the stupid amount of fanfiction I read has made it all a bit blurry)  
> There was no beta, very little proofreading, and a lot of incompetence, so bare with me(especially since I'm pretty sure I call Stiles a "he" a few times and, for some reason, Scott a "her". I mix up pronouns a lot I'm sure) Seriously though, no proofreading. Just like. Kicked this into shape in a couple hours. This will be a sort of future-fic. This will pay absolutely no attention to canon unless it suits me. I will stop making disclaimers now.
> 
> Okay actually one more disclaimer. I don't really post works online, and this is my first time posting one to AO3--it's pretty much my first actual fandom work. I'm spazzing out. Feel free to suggest...pretty much anything. Especially tags. I have no idea what to do with tags.

"Ugh, could she be any more perfect?" Despite the fact that it was a literally daily groan, Scott looked up and followed his best friend's gaze to Lydia. She was laughing about something, a cool smirk curling her lips as she leaned into Jackson. Scott snorted, reaching out to cuff his friend over the head.

"Yeah, she could be like, y'know, into girls," Scott pointed out with a good-natured laugh. Stiles scowled at him without heat, though she didn't hold back when she smacked him in the head in retribution for the unwarranted attack.

"Plenty of people go both ways nowadays," she grumped. "It's like, fashionable, dude. Maybe she'll have a change of heart. Lydia's the fucking queen of fashionable." Stiles didn't sound like she honestly believed it, but she stood stubbornly scowling at him so Scott just grinned again and nodded.

"Yeah, sure. And maybe you'll wear a pink skirt and start wearing heels," he says cheerfully just as the bell rings. Groaning in unison, they followed the crowd previously loitering in the courtyard into the building. As luck would have it, Lydia and Jackson were heading in the same direction and Stiles' shoulder actually brushed against her. Stiles' face lit up like there were fucking fireworks involved, her heart hammering away against her poor unsuspecting sternum which really should be used to this sort of abuse by now.

"Hey Lydia, what's up?" she asked, trying to play it cool. Her voice didn't break this time at least(yay small victories), but even she could tell she was absolutely _oozing_ awkwardness. How could she not though? It was _Lydia_. The strawberry-blond goddess of the school, with her perfect makeup and flawless nails and always-exactly-revealing-enough-without-being-too-'slutty' clothes.

Lydia belonged on a magazine cover, draped over velvet and covered in gold and gems, being worshiped by naked hot people enthralled by her utter beauty, all of which would completely pale in comparison to Lydia's glory. Meanwhile Stiles belonged, well, no where. At a comic book story maybe. She was gangly and pale with long, bony limbs and her plain brown hair was barely long enough to be pulled back into a pony tail, which was a pitiful excuse for a pony tail really. Her face was practically colorless, save for more freckles than were frankly healthy for her self-esteem, she couldn't do makeup to save her life and when Mrs. McCall had done it for her three years back on a whim, she'd had to wash it off within the hour because it made her face feel weird. Her nose was simply ridiculous, and her mouth was so wide it didn't even make sense. At least her stupid ears would have been covered by her hair, except she didn't have the patience for anything more complicated than a ponytail, and if she left it down she just spent the whole day trying to get it out of her eyes. Which, by the way, were huge. Sure huge eyes sounded nice but really they just made her every expression even more ridiculous and exaggerated than it already would have been since she was such an awkward, exaggerated freak.

And as for clothes, well, the only good thing she could say about her tattered jeans and worn gray hoody were "they smell clean." Literally; she'd picked them up off the floor and done a sniff-test that morning. Bachelor-style. Underneath that her flannel shirt was cool, even if no one agreed, and she had the most awesome Deadpool shirt she'd yet found online, but that wasn't exactly magazine-cover material(although it really should be.) Not to mention that while Lydia was all smooth curves and perfect breasts and legs both long and elegant, Stiles had actually been mistaken for a boy. Recently. In fact, she was pretty sure everyone actually though she was a boy up until gym in middle school when she walked into the girl's locker room. One of the girls had actually started to protest, up until Stiles got her shirt off and they saw what passed for boobs. Even as a freshman in goddamn _high school,_ she still didn't actually need to wear a bra. Not even for like, medical health reasons or anything.

Honestly that was great. Stiles liked who she was, really she did. She was comfortable and content and not having to wear a bra was amazing because holy shit uncomfortable and she didn't really mind when people mistook her for a boy because she definitely wasn't trying to be pretty(not that she ever could be, really; the very idea was stupid) and it wasn't like it was really offensive anyway. It wasn't that she wanted to be a boy either, as her father had once very awkwardly asked, which was actually worse than the attempt as the sex talk he'd tried to give her before she had the brilliant idea of suggesting he let Scott's mom handle it. Although she was pretty bitter that Beacon High didn't have a girl's lacrosse team, and no one would care about one if they did, since she'd sort of wanted to get in on that. Actually they didn't really have much in the way of sports for girls. Whatever. She cheered for Scott way better than anyone else, and that had to count for something.

When it all came down to it, it just sucked that the amazing, beautiful, incredible, _smart_ girl she'd been in love with for longer than she'd been best friends with Scott, would never spare her a second glance. They couldn't even be friends because, well, Lydia was Fashionable and Stiles was--Stiles was Not. If she had to guess, she was pretty sure she was the most uncool person to ever know Lydia for so long. Anyone else had had at least some of her cool rub off on them. Or, more likely, were already cooler than Stiles in the first place. In all fairness, being cooler than Stiles was a bit like being smarter than a rock; it just wasn't saying much.

Lydia, in response to the greeting, just gave her the "I can't believe this insect is speaking to me look" and swept into the room ahead of her with a feminine snort. Scott winced in sympathetic pain, but Stiles, hopeless, lovesick Stiles, just sighed longingly and sent puppydog looks after her.

"Dude, she barely knows you exist and you're already whipped," Scott told her, earning himself a scowl and a jab in the ribs. 

As Scott grimaced, rubbing at his ribs, she gave him a haughty look and said, "Yeah, well, maybe I want to be whipped." And then, oh the images that conjured. Her eyes glazed over and she stopped right there in the middle of the hallway. Images of Lydia in black leather danced through her mind, all shiny and unspeakable and yeah, there were definitely whips involved. Scott had to grab her and shove her towards the back of the class, all but manhandling her into her seat.

"Dude," was all Scott could say, and then the teacher was there and everyone settled in with a sigh.

Allison arrived during second period. She was, frankly, hot. Really hot. Like, Stiles sat up and dropped her pencil hot. But if Stiles thought she was hot, well. There was a loud clatter, and she glanced over to see her friend had fallen half out of his chair.

Poor baby.

Trying desperately not to laugh, lest any more people than the handful already snickering notice, she grabbed his shoulder and dragged at him, shoving him back up into his seat. And for all that consideration, she didn't even get an appreciative glance; her idiotic "best friend" was just gaping at the new girl like she was made of goddamn diamonds.

She was way out of his league. Not quite Lydia and Stiles, but out of his league anyway, even though Stiles thought he was adorable and handsome and all kinds of wonderful.

Oh boy. No one was ever going to _not_ make fun of the two of them; the stupid lovestruck duo following around hot girls like they were dogs in heat. All the more fuel for the "why don't you two just date?" fire too. Ugh. Danny was gay and everyone was accepting of that and never tried to shove him into a relationship with a girl, so why couldn't she just be a lesbian, dammit? Although, technically, she did check out her fair share of male booties, but they didn't know that. She was always very discreet! Well, usually. Sometimes. Okay she wasn't discreet but no one paid enough attention to her to know that! And if they did pay attention enough to know that then they should be well aware that a relationship between her and Scott was just--weird. Super weird. Weirder than incest.

Stiles sighed. Oh well. Scott had supported her Lydia crush for a decade, she could support his new--what was the girl's name? She focused in on the teacher just in time to hear him say it. It wasn't the initial introduction, he was talking about where she came from or something, but she got the name so that was all that mattered. She could support his Allison crush and they could commiserate each others heart break over regular doses of chocolate, cake and bad movies.

Of course, all those plans began to fall completely through at lunch as she watched Allison completely fall for the hopeless puppy dog that was her best friend. She'd always known that she couldn't possibly be the only one to see his charms forever. Just fucking fantastic. She pined for ten long years to get to her current state of _completely ignored_ , and all he had to do was grin and awkwardly mumble at her and they were making mutual googoo eyes at each other. Not fair.

Not that she would begrudge her friend his happiness, of course.

Walking over when Allison headed off to her next class, she clapped Scott on the back, grinning as they both watched Allison go. Because she was a good friend, she even pushed his gaping mouth closed with one finger before he could start drooling.

"Good for you, dude!" she cheered, and when he started to look all abashed and cute, she couldn't stop herself from dragging his stupid face down into a headlock so she could completely demolish his hair. He squealed like a girl, writhing until she let him escape, and she tried not to roll her eyes at the fact that he still looked just fine with "ruined" hair. It was a good thing she'd latched onto him in grade school, before anyone else could notice his cuteness, because otherwise she was pretty sure she would be utterly friendless, and Scott would probably be one of the cool kids. A nice, sweet, adorable-as-fuck cool kid, but still too cool to be best friends with Stiles.

"Do you think she likes me?" Scott asked nervously, trying to fix his hair with his cheeks all red and nervous. She slung an arm around his neck with a heavy sigh, accepting her fate. Feeling him practically vibrating with nerves under her arm, she couldn't really even be upset. Allison had seemed incredibly nice, completely not the stuck-up bitch she had every right to be considering how attractive she was, and she was pretty sure they'd hit it off and be a stupidly cute couple. So she'd have to share Scott with someone. Well, she could think of worse people to share him with; at least Allison seemed like she'd be cool with Scott's best friend being a girl.

"Do you want my honest opinion, man?" she asked, looking at the ground.

Scott's head was bobbing so hard his hair started attacking her arm before he sputtered out, "Yeah!"

For a moment she tortured him, pursing his lips and frowning as if she had to think about this very, very hard. Then she looked sidelong up at him, gave him a slow, broad grin. "Dude, she totally digs you." Scott let out a whoop, and Stiles was still laughing by the time they made it to their next class.

After school, there was further flirting between Scott and Allison, and it was all very awkward and cute, but she had to go and Stiles dragged her stupid friend off lest his first impression to whoever was there to pick her up was "crazy stalker guy". Plus, Scott had lacrosse practice, which Stiles watched as she always did because it was sort of fun to watch people pummel each other. Stiles was definitely the best friend in the world and she only sighed a couple hundred times and didn't snap once even though Scott spent the entire drive to his house, and the whole time they spent doing homework together, talking about Allison. Who he had known for less than five hours. God if they started dating he was going to be absolutely insufferable.

 

It didn't surprise her to find her dad wasn't home yet when she got there. She hadn't expected him to be; the sheriff usually worked late hours, and she was used to it. Really, she was. Heading to the kitchen, she heated up some mac'n'cheese, then trotted upstairs to plop down at the computer. Where she promptly reached over and turned on the police scanner she had obtained through questionably legal means, settling in to browse through the various sites she stalked. Living in Beacon Hills, a small town amongst small towns, there was little to no crime of much interest. The worst things the cops usually had to deal with was graffiti, teenage pranks, and the occasional domestic violence case, which made the radios almost painfully boring to listen in to. Stiles was a helpless worrywort and, more importantly, insatiably curious though, which was why she had the scanner on whenever she was in the house and her dad was not. Over the years she had gotten exceptionally good at messing around while still keeping an ear on the radio, possibly because of her ADHD and the wonderful invention of adderall, so she didn't miss when someone was suddenly calling out codes with unusual levels of urgency.

Stiles gaped at the code they'd called out, even as someone else asked for a confirmation of it and was irritably informed that they hadn't said the wrong damn code now hurry the fuck up.

"Holy shit," she said aloud. Then again, louder, "Holy shit!" Jumping out of her chair, she snatched up the phone and called Scott. "My porch. Right now. Wear sneakers." Without giving him time to argue or question, she scrambled around for something more appropriate for exploring the woods in search of a _dead body!_ Vibrating with excitement, she grabbed a flashlight and, after a moment's thought, the taser her dad had given her four years ago(along with a long, stern lecture and a lot of frowning and a healthy dose of awkwardness).

The door downstairs slammed open, and she hastily shoved the supplies under her cover with a curse. Jerking her door open, she trotted downstairs, forcing her nerves to settle lest her dad see the excitement on her face. He was in a hurry, fortunately, or else she would never have been able to keep her intentions from him.

"Sorry kiddo," he said, grabbing a bite of the mac'n'cheese still sitting on the stove. "Something's happened. I won't be home til late, so do your homework and go to bed. Don't stay up. And," he turned, leveling a steady glower at her with a pointed finger. "Do. _Not._ Leave the house. Got it?"

"I acknowledge this," Stiles chirped, since that wasn't technically a promise, right? Her dad seemed to have the same thought since he scowled at her again. But he just shook his head and muttered something as he grabbed his coat, which was great since it reminded Stiles to wear a hoody.

"Do not go out," he repeated. "Don't." Then he kissed her cheek and was off and Stiles was racing up the stairs to drag on her hoody. She shoved the flashlight and taser into its pockets, then arranged her bed with utmost care, peering at it from different angles until she was certain it looked like someone sleeping in it. With that, she closed her bedroom door, shut off the light, and climbed out the window. Scott was waiting for her, fidgeting nervously, when she came shimmying down to join him on the porch.

"Somebody found a dead body!" she blurted out, unable to contain herself, though she kept her voice to a whisper. Scott nearly jumped out of his skin but she went right on talking. "Well, half of one. The top half, specifically. An unidentified male, apparently. Scar on his face. All gross and, y'know, dead. Mauled by an animal of some kind, they said. It was horrible and gruesome and the jogger who stumbled across it is totally going to need therapy and like the whole force is out there, with like dogs and shit, looking for the other half and the thing that did it. So come on, let's go dude!" She grabbed him and practically threw them both into the woods, despite Scott's hissed protests and general unwillingness to go look for some dead guy's legs. Sometimes she swore her best friend was seriously lacking in adventurousness department.

They didn't find the legs. They did, however, find the thing that had done it. Stiles had a moment to be almost annoyed that the giant monster _thing_ was basically blond, officially the least scary color in the history of ever, before she was thrown into a tree.

She woke to Scott's scream. It was a horrible, horrible sound, gut-wrenching with terror and agony and everything she had never ever wanted to hear from Scott or, for that matter, anyone else. It made her heart ache more than any scream in any more ever could, make her soul feel like it was about to shatter. Oh god, _Scott._ Her head swam and her back ached, but she scrambled to her feet anyway, blinking at the very...swimming-y forest. There was something, she saw vaguely, something big and blond and blurry, hunched over a very wriggly something else.

"Scott!" she gasped, suddenly recognizing the wriggling thing as her best friend, trying to get away from the monster. Considering its teeth were digging into his midsection, Stiles suspected he was only making his predicament worse.

Swallowing down terror, she threw up her hands and started to shout. "Hey!" she cried. "Over here! Come and get me you big ugly bastard!" This was exactly as successful as she'd hoped it would be, which sucked, but at least Scott was still moving when she turned tail and ran. 

Fire burning in her lungs, heart racing like it had a goal in mind, she ignored the throb of her legs and just _ran_. Ran as fast and far and hard as she could, stumbling and sliding and tripping her way through the stupidly dark forest. She couldn't even risk slowing down enough to try and get the taser out; that was a last-ditch effort only. The thing was right on her heels, breathing down her neck in the literal sense. She was done. Dead. Over. With her heart stuttering hopelessly, she somehow managed one final burst of speed, one last protest to her death--and behind her she heard the thing yelp.

She'd seen enough horror movies to know that stopping when being chased by a monster, no matter what, meant that you died. With that knowledge humming angrily in the back of her mind, she jerked around to stare, gasping for breath as she watched something big and dark wrestling with the cream-colored monster. Teeth gnashed and blue and red eyes flashed. It looked like, she dared to assume, they were fighting. Yeah, they were definitely fighting.

Over what?

She made it as far as that thought before deciding she was pretty sure she didn't want to stick around and find out.

Turning away, she ran some more. Fortunately for her poor, abused body, she didn't have far to go. She stumbled out of the trees and let out a hoarse shout as light burned into her retinas. Someone shouted, and then her dad let out a strangled, "Stiles?!" For once, even knowing she was going to be so completely grounded, she didn't wince. Instead she stumbled forward, hearing him rushing towards her. With one big, relieved sigh, she collapsed into his arms. She wanted to just go to sleep right there, but she couldn't. There was something important she had to tell them first. Something so, _so_ important.

As her thoughts suddenly got themselves in some semblance of order, she jerked herself awake again, cutting off the sheriff's stream of questions and barked commands with a gasp of, "Scott!" She may have slapped her dad in her flailing around, but he didn't seem to mind, just pushed at her hands until she stopped flailing. So she switched from flailing to clutching desperately at his shirt, holding on as tight as she could.

"What, honey? What's wrong?" the sheriff asked, laying a hand over hers.

"Dad! Scott--he got bit. He's...he's in the woods. Near." She floundered trying to pinpoint a location, letting go of his shirt with one hand to flail it around some more, and snapped her fingers when she came up with it. "Near that stupidly steep hill thing I fell down as a kid. Scott's there. I got the--the thing to follow me, but it bit Scott, and he was bleeding, and--" her words turned into sobs. She tried to say more, tried to voice her numerous worries for her friend, but the sheriff soothed her, petting her hair, turning her head into his shoulder to cry. As she huddled against him, he turned and barked out further commands, ordering someone to call 911. When her dad told them where Scott was in less Stiles-esque terms, she finally allowed herself to relax. Relaxing made her immediately want to fall asleep, of course, which struck her as a bad idea.

"It threw me," she sighed into her dad's jacket, which smelled so warm and safe. "Hit a tree. Hurt. Might be concussed. Maybe. Ran too much. I think my fucking heart is going to explode. Holy fuck. That was so fucked up, Dad." The sheriff didn't interrupt. He just sat down on the forest floor, pulled her into his lap, and let her mumble and babble about what were beginning to sound to him a lot like hallucinations of some sort, maybe the adrenaline turning a cougar into some sort of monster. That sounded right, although he thought a concussion could probably make that sort of thing even worse. When she started to drift off, he woke her back up, firm but gentle. An ambulance arrived for her, which she hadn't expected. She tried to insist she didn't need one, but her dad ignored her, naturally, and after making sure she was alright to move, they helped her to the ambulance. The sheriff hovered, torn between daughter and duty. She could see it on his face. She just smiled at him from where she was now sitting up on the cot, a paramedic examining her head which was apparently bleeding. Cool.

"I'll be fine, Dad," she told him with only mostly false cheer. "Mrs. McCall will be there anyway, and it's not like everyone there doesn't have your number. But seriously, I'm fine. Just a little banged up and tired. It's not even as bad as that time I fell out of the big oak trying to get my balloon back." The sheriff was still hesitating, one hand raised towards the ambulance as if about to climb on, so she gave him one last push. "Go find Scott. Make sure that idiot's alive." She swallowed down a sudden lump in her throat as tears began to gather in her eyes again. Her dad nodded, and she nodded back(although only a very little nod because seriously, ow) and then they closed the doors and drove off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on making it this far oh my god so much ramble. What even is my writing style. If you enjoyed it, my ego could always use some stroking. If you hated it, then, well, my ego would prefer not to be abused but you're free to do whatever you like. I literally have no idea where this is going, pretty much. I don't know if this is going to be ridiculously long, or stupidly short. There is probably going to be fluff, maybe some drama, and Stiles will almost definitely be a BAMF. I have no idea when updates will be though, don't ask for a time; I can't give you one. "Whenever inspiration hits." I'll try not to make you wait too long though.
> 
> And if anyone wants to help me with this, for crying out loud I would love some freaking assistance do not be shy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles has emotions and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So further elaboration on how little of Teen Wolf I've watched/can remember; I sat there scrunching my face and trying to think of conflicting things from what I have seen/read about like every other paragraph for quite some time before I went "screw it" and decided I don't care about canonicality(it's a word because I say it is.) Also, I have an absolutely foul mouth and a love for overusing commas. I realized after the first chapter that Stiles generally doesn't have a foul mouth, nor does anyone else on the show, largely because of TV and stuff but I'm going to try to rein in the cussing a little more(I don't think there was too much in chapter one but there was a lot intended for a while). Mostly because Stiles coming up with creative expletives sounds fun. Also I try to be funny a lot. Hopefully you at least crack a smile.
> 
> If anybody's character seems off--uh, it probably is. I pointedly ignore canon for my own purposes, or simply because I don't know characters well enough, or because they're based more on fanon characters than canon. So yeah. Uh. Oh, thank you for any and all feedback, and thank you<3333 Nanny Goat for being my beta reader person, Iloveyoubaby.
> 
> Anyway. Here's chapter two. Hopefully it's enjoyable and at least somewhat believable and not utterly awkward and awful. -awkward laugh-
> 
> ..also you'll probably notice I have a fondness for a lot of different words and overuse them. I try not to but if you start going "why does she keep using this word?" it's because I'm a weirdo mcweirdington who has crushes on words.
> 
> (I'll also try to stop basically trying to talk you out of reading this at the beginning of every chapter. I will probably fail but it's the thought that counts, really.)

Stiles did not cry when she saw Scott. Definitely not. Even if she did, that was between her and the edge of the hospital cot. Not Scott; he was asleep when she came in. Or rather, directly after she came in. He closed his eyes and slept very deeply while she had her exchange with the cot. Awkwardly petting her head (in his sleep) was just because he was weird and "on the good meds."

She loved her best friend, and he loved her too, especially while medicated. He _really_ liked her while medicated. Even after her and the cot had their thing, he kept reaching out to her in a needy fashion while making great big puppy dog eyes. She could have avoided the touch easily, his reach being severely limited by hospital crap, but he was almost as pale as her despite his usual warm tan. Resisting leaning in whenever he made his grabby hands was harder than the water level(take your pick of games). It was a little weird, but both of them had almost died, so she figured a little tactile comfort was probably in order.

On the other hand, if he didn't stop tugging on her hair she _was_ going to smack him, hurt or not. Yes, her hair was down. No, it was not an invitation for comment or touching. The only reason it was down was that she couldn't bring herself to ask someone for a hairtie in a hospital. She might have asked Mrs. McCall, except that her son was in the hospital and it was Stiles's fault. So no, she wasn't going to ask anything of Mrs. McCall, not even forgiveness. Especially since even if Mrs. McCall said she forgave her, even if she honestly meant it, Stiles knew this was an unforgiveable offense and would never ever forgive herself. Being blamed would actually make her feel better, in an awful way. At least then she wouldn't feel horribly guilty whenever someone started worrying over her.

Stiles talked a lot, sitting there beside Scott while he touched her and occasionally mumbled his own commentary. Thinking back on it later, she had no idea what she talked about, just that she did a lot of it. The usual amount, honestly, although with even less purpose than usual. It just felt necessary to talk to him, to do something normal. To remind herself that _'normal'_ was still possible. It didn't work though, because Scott was in a hospital bed, and she had just climbed out of one, and it was all her fault. Scott was starting to actually fall asleep as she talked, which was good; he needed some more sleep, she thought. But first, she had to tell him something.

Sitting forward, she laid a hand over his, trying to hold it around the finger clamp and only half-succeeding. "Scott," she hissed, getting him to open his eyes and look blearily at her. "Come on Scott, I know you're in there. Wake up for a minute, dude." Scott whined, protesting that he was tired and couldn't he just go to sleep already? "I know, I know, you can go to sleep in a sec. Listen to me though, man, this is _really important._ " She gave his hand a little shake to make sure he was paying attention. Sighing as if he were an old man indulging his favorite niece, which was a slightly horrifying image, Scott managed a wobbling bob of his head and opened his eyes a little further, focusing on her as best he could.

"Listen, when you wake up, there's going to be people of the law force persuasion--see: my dad--and they're going to be asking questions," Stiles whispered, trying to speak slow while also sounding frantic. Just the attempt was making her head feel prone to explosions. She was seriously not made for this. "They're going to want to know what attacked you. You've got to tell them it was a mountain lion, alright, dude? _Mountain lion._ " She tried to put as much force into those two words as she was physically capable of, hoping desperately he could just make things easier for them all and remember to do as told when he woke up.

"Dude, that was _not_ a mountain lion," Scott grumbled, sounding incredulous that she could even suggest such a thing. Forgetting herself, she reached out and swatted him upside the head. He whined and rubbed at it like it really hurt, but she'd barely brushed his hair so she ignored his complaints.

"Of course it wasn't," she snapped. A lull in the voices outside the door made her wince, though thankfully she must not have been too loud since no one came bursting in to yell at her. She made sure to keep her voice low when she continued, though.

"I know what the hell a mountain lion looks like, and that was _so_ not one. But I have a giant lump on my head, and God only knows what the hell happened to you, so there's no way they're going to believe us if we say it was a monster." Her face hurt when she scowled, reminding her of numerous scratches as well as a few bruises along her jawline that were a bit of a mystery. The wonders of getting pummeled by a giant, _blond_ (never letting that go) monster, she supposed. "Trust me. I tried to tell my dad and even _he_ wouldn't believe me. I was _this_ close--" she held up her hand, not quite pinching her thumb and pointer finger together--"to sending me to the freaking psych ward." Not a place she wanted to be ever, thank you very much. It was bad enough she had to see a therapist every other month as it was. Technically she thought her therapist was actually quite nice and enjoyed talking to her for a short time now and then, but that was because Mrs. Terry didn't judge her or try to poke her brain or look down on her as "just a teenager." From the experiences she'd had with various other mental health professionals before Mrs. Terry, she doubted she'd have the same luck in the psychatric ward.

"They're not in the mood to listen, Scott. They just want to find something to point at and kill and say 'look, this is what did it, you can stop panicking now.' I mean, fair enough, because I'm pretty sure people are going to _freak_ when they find out about this, and you know how people are when they're scared." Of course Scott knew; they had discussed it(see: Stiles had talked about it and Scott just let it happen) in depth on several occasions over their many years of friendship. Nonetheless, just in case he'd forgotten, and maybe because he was drugged and thus at her mercy, she went off on a little tangent about humans and their disastrous fears before managing to circle back around to the point. "Anyway. Just don't describe it's many fascinating aspects. You got attacked by a mountain lion. I got it to chase me. That's it."

Scott stirred at that. Stiles was just glad to know he'd actually been listening, except she didn't because she really didn't want to talk about that. Whenever someone brought it up, they called her _brave_ and that made her feel so much worse. She didn't want Scott of all people saying _anything_ about that. And yet, he started mumbling with a hand on her arm to chain her in place, "Yeah, about that, dude, you--" Stiles flinched at the impending words, but they were stalled by the door swinging open and the sheriff stepping into the room. Grateful for the interruption, she pulled away from Scott's hand with the totally viable excuse of turning to look at her dad.

"Scott. You should be resting," the sheriff said with a frown for Stiles. Scott yawned and, though his eyes were still giving her a look, he chuckled lightly. "Go to sleep, son. We'll take your statement later. Doctor's orders. Stiles, I'm going to take you back home. Come on." Stiles grimaced at his stern look, but she didn't argue. Scott was practically out already as it was.

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed, dragging herself out of the chair and stretching. At which point she realized that stretching was completely overrated and a terrible idea. Trying not to let the pain show on her face too much, she ruffled Scott's hair as further guard against worrying her dad. "Seeya later, Scott. I'll drop by after school, so text me if they let you go home before then." Her best friend nodded, smiling at her, and of course he had to reach out and touch her arm again.

Right. That was getting really creepy.

Suddenly Scott was blinking at her again, thinking of something, and she almost groaned when he started up, "If Allison asks--" She cut him off before he could start babbling.

"I know, I know. I'll tell her you're a brave hotshot who got scratched by a big kitty and needs to recoop but you'll be back soon. I'll even give her your number if she asks, okay? Go the heck to sleep, dude, before you start hallucinating." She pushed the hand still hanging towards her back onto the bed, and strolled over to her dad with a gait that was comfortingly close to her usual. The sheriff looked amused by the exchange, though slightly confused. After a moment of mentally backtracking through the exchange, she realized she hadn't gotten the chance to tell him about the new girl yet. So, rather than letting him ask any questions, she filled the whole ride home with chatter about Scott and Allison and the random subjects that came to mind afterwards.

By the time they made it home, Stiles was nodding off, and her dad followed her up the stairs to make sure she didn't break herself anymore than she already has. She appreciates the sentiment, considering she does wobble a few times, and only grumbles a little as he kisses her forehead and tells her she's grounded indefinitely before she shuts the door on him to change into PJs. Normally she leaves it cracked, but tonight she elects to leave it open wide. Her dad would just wind up pushing it open to peer in at her anyway, so she may as well spare them both its awful creaking. Not that it mattered, really; the moment her head touched the pillow, she was out cold. At least, until the front door slammed and she heard an engine start up.

"Dad?" she called, just to confirm her suspicions. When no one responded, she sighed. "Late night again?" she muttered irritably to herself and threw the covers off when she sat up. "They are overworking him!" she angrily informed the empty house. Brows furrowed in frustration, she scowled at the blankets still overtop her legs. "What the hell is he even supposed to be doing at this time of night? It's not like he's running patrols, he's the sheriff for fuck's sake."

Running a hand through her hair, she was surprised to find it feeling gritty and disgusting, like dried sweat and a lot of dirt. It took pulling out a twig and scowling at it to realize two things: 1) she hadn't actually showered yet, and 2) they hadn't found what had killed that dude. And now there had been another attack.

"Shit," she groaned. Pulling up her legs, she lowered her head to rest it against her knees. Her dad was out in the woods looking, unknowingly, for a monster. "Shit on a glowing silver platter, in fact."

Welp, there was no way she was getting back to sleep now.

With a sigh, she kicked her legs and flailed around despite her aches and pains until she was on her feet and free of her covers, despite all their best efforts to hold her hostage. Wondering what they would have demanded in exchange, she tossed her clothes into the hamper, then trotted the short distance down the hall to hop into the shower and scrub herself. First, though, she stopped to stare at her reflection, grimace at what a mess she looked like. There were cuts and bruises everywhere, literally everywhere, although mostly on her back(which she had to twist around to see, and twist she did, even though it hurt a lot), and smudges of dirt that looked so much like bruises she actually wound up trying to scrub off a few bruises by the time she did get in the shower. There was nothing that looked like it would be too permanent though, so that was good. Or would it? Maybe the girls would think she looked rogueish if she had a little scarring. Which just served to further reassure her that she wouldn't get any scars out of it, at least not any cool ones, because mocking her pathetic attempts at a sex life was clearly Fate's favorite hobby. Hey, at least she was someone's favorite something.

Technically, she was Scott's favorite friend and her dad's favorite daughter, but they didn't count because she was the only one of those things they had.

The shower was nice, even when she had to watch dirt and blood washing down the drain in tiny streams. At least she was allowed to shower, unlike Scott. Or at least, she hadn't been expressly told _not_ to shower...Making a face, she resisted the urge to linger under the nice hot water since she was suddenly only 'pretty sure' no one had told her not to shower.

When she got out, she used only dark towels to dry off, figuring they'd be less likely to show any blood she might still be leaking. She threw them in her hamper after her PJs. For good measure, she shook out her sheets, gratified when she saw the dirt fly off. Comfortable in the knowledge she wasn't going to be sleeping with a stick in her ass any time soon, she pulled on some underwear and the biggest shirt she owned(which was huge, fyi, especially on her skinny ass frame) and sat down at her computer "just for a minute." 

Six hours of intense research(okay and a little porn, plus all the usual fuckery of the internet) the sun was up and she had to scramble into her clothes and practically fall down the stairs to avoid lateness. Throwing herself into her jeep, she cried out a joyous, "Thank you, baby!" and kissed the jeep's steering wheel when she started up with only a little hesitation. Then she was peeling out, just-under-the-speed-limit'ing it all the way to to parking lot. Thankfully, a spot was readily available, though far from prime location, and she was grabbing her backpack and scrambling to lock the doors in short time. She didn't sprint into the school, though she did try to hobble quickly. After a good night of, well, fucking about, most of the pain had decided to focus on her legs, upper back and head. The bell screamed as soon as she plunked down into her seat, and then it was _definitely_ mostly her head. Groaning, she pressed her face into the nice cool desk and wished the day would just be over already.

The rest of the day definitely didn't disappoint, as far as _absolute awfulness_ went. Without Scott there, she had no one to talk to, which meant that it was horrifically lonely and boring. Her mind buzzed with inner conversations all day, and she kept trying to turn around and make a comment to her best friend, only to remember he wasn't there. At which point she would remember _why_ he wasn't there, and then she would be left wallowing in guilt, worry and general self-loathing once more. That would have been bad enough to make her day horrible, but she also had to deal with the entire school _staring_ at her. Some of them at least tried to be subtle, which she gave them a little bit of credit for. Most of them, though, just openly gaped. Well, not quite gaped; she wasn't that interesting, even now. But there were constantly eyes boring into her, probing her for information, and yet not a single person said a damn thing to her. At least, not until lunch when a worried looking Allison approached. That was actually something of a minor miracle(godsend at least); Stiles could always appreciated being talked to by somewhat as hot as Allison, and despite the downsides of it she still thought Scott and Allison were a cute couple-to-be.

"Hey--Stiles, right?" Allison greeted, sounding nervous. She smiled sweetly, which was such an improvement over creepy staring that Stiles knew her returning grin was probably idiotic.

"Yep, that's me," she said before shoving a curly fry in her mouth. Just because she was happy to talk to Allison didn't mean she wasn't going to go right on devouring her lunch. Lunch period wasn't _that_ long, okay? To her surprise, Allison smiled a little brighter and slid right into the seat across from her. Stiles stopped eating then in order to gawp at Allison before she remembered her mouth was full of half-chewed food and hastily finished chewing and swallowing, hoping her blush wasn't too obvious.

"I heard about you and Scott," Allison got right to the point. Stiles could appreciate that in a girl. "Is--I mean, are you alright?" Oh god, she was trying to be polite. Stiles's heart couldn't take it. Managing, somehow, to resist the urge to clutch at her heart and give in to theatrics, she just grinned knowingly at the other girl.

"I'm fine. Well, as fine as someone can be after being...attacked by a mountain lion," Stiles assured her, grin wavering on the words before returning full-force. "And so is Scott. He took the brunt of the attack; I mostly just did a lot of running. He had to stay in the hospital and got a few stitches, but--" Her phone vibrated, interrupting her, and she pulled it out quickly. After tapping on the "1 New Message" icon, she grinned then turned the phone around to show Allison.

**got the okay. going home now.**

"He'll be fine," Stiles finished, even as she tapped out a quick reply( **see you after school. talking to allison atm.** ).

Allison smiled a huge, relieved grin. "That's good. I'm glad. When I heard about Scott was in the hospital, I thought..." Her voice trailed off, looking sheepish.

Stiles nodded though, a jerky bob of her head that hurt but she didn't care any more. "Yeah, Scott's worrisome. I'm pretty much the only reason he's lived this long." Remembering she'd promised to make him look good, she hastily added, "Although, I mean, he's probably the only reason I've lived this long too. We've been friends forever. Like, since grade school. We've been pulling each other out of trouble, and getting into it together, for like a decade now. Dude's my bro." For a moment, Stiles considered just invited Allison over to Scott's house with her after school; Scott sure as hell wouldn't mind. But they had monsters to discuss, so instead she inquired as subtly as she could, "Do you want his number? Scott would flip to hear from you. In a good way, y'know." Okay probably a little too forward, but Allison had a happy little pink tinge to her cheeks as she hurried to nod an affirmation.

"Yeah, I mean, if you're sure he wouldn't mind, I'd love it," she answered, pulling out her own phone. Stiles gave her the number, as promised, as she checked her messages again. There was a string of excited gibberish from Scott, but she didn't respond; he'd get his answer soon enough if the way Allison was staring at her phone was anything to go by. Stiles munched on curly fries and the rest of her food(nothing other than the curly fries really mattered to her), watching Allison nibble her lip and debate whatever incredibly tough decision she had to make. Eventually she tapped out a hasty message before pocketing her phone and looking up again. "So, what even happened last night? I mean, I got the whole 'mountain lion attack' thing, but there wasn't really a story to go along with it."

Stiles swallowed. There was no way in hell she was telling Allison she'd dragged Scott out to look for (half of) a dead body. In fact, while she was utterly guilty and definitely not going to deny her fault in this matter, she wasn't going to bring that up, ever, if she could help it. Except to Scott; he deserved an apology.

So instead she just shrugged, staring at her food as she replied. "I dunno. It's not that interesting," she muttered. "Scott and I were just--out there. Wandering the woods, y'know? And then there was this...thing. Mountain lion. It slammed me into a tree and I guess I must've blacked out cause the next thing I know I'm waking up and Scott--" She choked off, ducking her head further to shove her fingers into her hair. In avoiding talking about it since giving her statement the night before, she'd also avoided the knowledge of just how bad talking about it would hurt. Allison made a concerned noise, but Stiles swallowed and barreled ahead. She didn't want Allison's sympathy, she didn't deserve that. She could just save that for Scott, thank you. Stiles had to swallow again before she could continue. "Uh. I heard him scream so I tried to get up, and there was that thing trying to eat him or something, I guess. Biting him, whatever. I got up and sort of jerked around, yelling and stuff, and when I got its attention I just started...running. Predators, y'know, they instinctively chase things that run. Like, even if they're pretty chill and not actively hunting you, if you turn tail and hike it, they'll just have to chase you, cause that's what their hindbrain says to do. Because obviously if you're running then you're scared and if you're scared you're probably weak and easy prey and hey, free food, basically. Anyway, I ran, it chased. And then I ran into my dad and the search party and told them where to find Scott and then we went to the hospital and yeah. That's the story." And my, what a fantastic close she had managed.

Shrugging, Stiles managed to get down another fry, which thankfully alleviated the ache of sobs threatening to come spilling forth. She shook out her head and looked up to smile at Allison again, privately wondering why she'd left out the reason the 'mountain lion' had stopped chasing her. Last night she'd told the police, but for some reason now she didn't want whatever had saved her to be common knowledge. Allison was staring at her with a horrified expression, providing plenty of distraction from wondering about that for the time being.

"Oh my _God_ ," Allison breathed. "That's _horrible._ I'm so sorry--I didn't mean to make you, I mean you didn't have to..."

"No, it's fine, really. I mean, I'm pretty sure a bunch of people eavesdropped so at least the story'll probably get around and then I won't have to say it again. Besides, it seems like you should probably know, what with Scott and all." Stiles considered how far she could actually shove her foot down her throat as Allison blushed at her, but the bell came to her rescue. Hopping up, she blurted out an awkward, "See you later!" and tried not to be completely obvious about fleeing.

The rest of the day went back to just being miserable, the stares only seeming to increase despite her lunchtime hopes. It was all over, finally, eventually, and she burst out of the school like there was hell on her heels. Considering there was the entire school on her heels(well, at least half of it) that actually seemed like a pretty accurate description. Having had enough running to last her a life time, she merely walked very, very quickly to her jeep, and climbed in equally quickly. Safe inside her baby, she finally let out a sigh and relaxed. It had been a long day. But now! to go make sure her best friend was, in fact, alright, and then talk about the Blond Beast(a name she'd come up with in chemistry and intended to cling to because she just could not accept being pummeled by a blonde.)

She made it out of the parking lot and down the street unaccosted, which shouldn't have felt like a major success but totally did, and she was smiling again by the time she reached the McCall's. The engine grumbled before it died at the removal of the key, which she hoped wasn't a warning that it intended to quit on her later. Trying not to think about that possibility, she slithered out of the jeep to trot up to the door. It was locked, which didn't matter because she had a key and let herself in. Scott wasn't in the living room, so she headed back to his bedroom and let herself in there as well.

He was already staring at the door when she came in, and she grinned at the same time as he did. Padding over, she flailed her hands at him until he made room for her on the bed. Stiles threw herself down beside him with a heavy sigh of relief. Scott's room had always felt somehow _right_ , comfortable in a way her own bedroom wasn't. Not that her bedroom wasn't comfortable, just in a different way. Stiles had resolved long ago to never mention that feeling of rightness to anyone, knowing no one would understand their purely platonic bromance. Some things really would have been so much more convenient if she were a guy.

"How're the teeth marks?" she asked cheerfully. Anyone else would probably have given her a _look_ , gotten angry at her tactlessness, but Scott just grinned again.

"Fine," he told her, which wasn't a lie because Scott didn't know how to lie. Stiles was a terrible liar about ninety percent of the time, but at least she occasionally made the effort. Although, admittedly, the one or two times she'd seen him lie it had been better than expected. He'd gotten caught anyway, but good effort, nonetheless. It was probably the puppydog eyes; they made people just want to trust Scott. "Actually, really good. Like, they don't hurt or itch or anything and dude, they totally hurt last night. Everyone said they'd be sore for a while, and then they'd be itchy because, y'know, healing. But they don't. Actually, it kinda seems like the only thing bugging me is the bandages. Those are completely uncomfortable."

And that was _weird_ and maybe Stiles hadn't had enough sleep and her brain wasn't really doing much in the way of impulse control(not that it ever did much of that).

With lifted brows, Stiles leaned over and did the obvious thing; slapped him right where she knew it hurt. Or at least, it should have. Scott jumped, cringing away from her with an outcry of, "Hey!" but no where near the screech it should have been. She had seen those bite marks--admittedly, not very closely, and it had been dark and he had been covered in blood--but they were definitely of the long-standing-pain variety.

"Huh," she let out, leaning back with an impressed expressive. "Dude, they must have you on some serious meds. What'd you get, anyway? Vicodin?" No comment on why she knew that medicine's name, among many others. She spent a lot of time on the internet; leave it at that.

Scott was shaking his head before she finished speaking though. "Nah, I'm not on anything. They gave me a prescription--for vicodin, yeah--" ha, she was always right. Mental fist pump, engage. "--in case it starts hurting, but it was already down to just sort of sore when I left. Mom said it was probably because the drugs from last night were still lingering, but it sort of seems like it's actually getting better."

Stiles stared at him. Not in disbelief; again, Scott, lying, not a good pair. But she was definitely feeling incredulous. She leaned over and shoved his shirt up, eliciting another squawk of disapproval. When staring at the starch white bandages revealed nothing, she looked up at him with a wicked grin.

"You're going to cut them off, aren't you," Scott sighed in a resigned fashion, the words in no way a question. Presenting him with a comically affronted look, she answered anyway.

"Why, Scott, darling," she teased, "Don't be silly! What sort of barbarian would go cutting your bandages off?" _Tsk_ ing, she shook her head sadly. It didn't last long, leaving her grinning evilly at him only moments later. "I'm just going to lift them up a bit. Don't be a baby."

Honestly, she wasn't usually so reckless. Okay, well, sometimes she wasn't so reckless. But an idea was itching at the back of her head(courtesy of six hours of google and what she'd figured out was about forty minutes of sleep) and she simply couldn't rest until she'd satisfied that curious niggling. Was niggling even a word? She made a mental note to ask google later. Not actually being a heartless monster, she was nervous as she reached for his bandages. It occurred to her to hope desperately that she wasn't about to expose Scott to some sort of horrible infection.

The damn things were tight as hell, which was probably a good thing except that meant she wound up hunched over Scott, scowling as she slowly worked a finger under the edge. It might have been easier if she actually had any nails to speak of, but at least her fingers were as thin as they were long. Scott, for his part, just laid there looking vaguely pained while she pushed and tugged the bandages just high enough to get a little peek underneath. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, or hoped, to find, but it wasn't what she found. And that is, nothing. Underneath the bandages, there was absolutely nothing. Except, of course, Scott. There was no blood, no scratches, just a few faint scars and some very useless-looking stitches.

Without a word, she jumped off the bed and went running off to the kitchen. Ignoring warnings about running with scissors and all that, she went running back to toss herself on the bed again. Thankfully, through some sort of miracle, she didn't shank anybody. Scott sat up, alarmed, and started to protest, but she was already hacking away at the bandages.

With the strips of cloth fallen away, they both sat back and stared at his chest. It took what felt like an hour and was probably closer to twenty minutes(or five maybe. Probably five, Stiles really couldn't track the passage of time) for either of them to move. Stiles jerked, reaching out to yank Scott's shirt down as if by hiding it they could pretend it wasn't real. Not that that had ever worked in the past, despite the innumerous times she had tested the theory. It also felt slightly awkward when she became aware of just how long they'd been mutually staring at Scott's bare torso.

"So," Scott squeaked, looking up at her with those huge eyes, looking for answers. Scott always seemed to be looking to her for answers. Sometimes it bothered her, a little, but mostly she just enjoyed someone relying on her. Finding her useful. Sure her dad found her useful too, but cleaning up, cooking; that just sort of felt like...payment. Repayment, that is, for all the crap she'd put him through during her "delinquent years." Which weren't really over, but she couldn't help it if she had more energy and curiosity than she knew what to do with. At least if she looked after the house, her dad didn't have to worry about _that_ too.

"I think it infected you," she blurted out because tact and subtlety were her middle name. Names. Suact? Moving on.

Scott was staring at her with even more confusion, so she flailed her hands around to gesticulate as she articulated(ha!). "The thing last night, it wasn't anything in any animal database anywhere. And I mean anywhere. I couldn't sleep last night so I sacrificed a goat to google and got some answers. Or more like, guesses, I guess. Ideas? Something. Anyway. It wasn't an animal, clearly. We both knew that mountain lion crap was bull in the first place, right? Right. So was any other animal. 'Escaped from the zoo' is out of the question too, by the way, not just because there's no zoos around for like fifty miles--" exactly seventy-three actually; the 'Stiles spends too much time on the internet' thing cannot be reiterated enough--"and because it totally wasn't a freaking _mountain lion_ , but because no zoo contains, are you ready for this? Freaking _supernaturals!_ " She spazzed her hands at him excitedly, unable to help being excited despite all the horrible implications because Sunnyville and Smallville and probably every other fictional town in the world were all places she'd wanted to live at one point, liability to die horribly or not. "So after determining there was no like freaky gorillas out there that look like _that_ , I went digging on sites about other things. Monsters and demons and gods, dude. Because we're American I am contractually required to suggest Big Foot, but that doesn't really seem likely. I mean for one thing, it didn't exactly have giant feet. Also, no Big Foot sightings have reporting giant shnozzes like our Blond Beasty." It was even better with the 'y.' "Not to mention the blond part. Big Foot strikes me more as a brunette, y'know? At least the idea of a big cuddly Big Foot hasn't been completely struck off the possible discoveries though. I mean, it'd be totally disappointing to find Big Foot only to discover he's a teenager-eating monster. So, more digging was required. Vampires were scratched off the list because fur. And then the next big thing seems most likely. Because fur and fangs and glowy red eyes and the--the nose right? _Werewolf._ " Just to emphasize her point, she made a little explosion with her hands on the word. Gasping for breath after the big reveal she had taken so long to work up to, she stared wild-eyed at Scott, waiting for him to catch up with her and be excited about this too because _holy shit, werewolves._

"Werewolves?" Scott asked, voice even higher than before. "You think I'm turning into a _werewolf!?_ "

"I know, right?!" Okay, admittedly, probably not the response Scott was going for.

Point proven only an instant later when Scott went from looking flabberghasted to grabbing her shoulders and gasping out, "Werewolves!? _Stiles!_ "

Because she was a good friend, Stiles resisted the urge to go off on the inevitable tangent about _oh my fucking god werewolves are real_ before her good ole buddy ole pal gave himself a heart attack. Or, more realistically, an asthma attack. She plopped her hands down on his shoulders for a firm, reassuring squeeze that left him looking resolutely pensive. "Scott, this is just a theory, but work with me here, alright?" she requested, trying to sound calm and in-control. Since she was who she was, it sounded absolutely nothing along those lines, but at least she wasn't panicking or having a victory dance. Both of which she had considered and possibly given into a few times during the last 24 hours. "Last night you and I were attacked by a werewolf, okay? You with me, dude? So, a werewolf attacked us. Blond werewolf. Probably a blond person too, but unfortunately we are not exactly short on blondes in Beacon Hills so that doesn't really narrow it down plus what guarantees are there that it really works that way? I mean are there even rules for a werewolf? It seems like there should be some correlation between what color hair you have and what color wolf...thing you are. Also seriously disappointed it wasn't like one-hundred-percent wolf because how cool would that be? Maybe it's some sort of half form though, some of the things I read mentioned that sort of stuff, but those were mostly just the usual fiction and stuff. A lot of porn-novels--" they never called them romance novels--"involve werewolves, it's such a kink nowadays apparently. Teens and soccer moms alike are apparently just head over heels for werewolves and vampires and creatures of the night. I figure you and I need to develop some sort of sexy mystique if we ever want to get ourselves laid. Maybe sprout some fangs. Although apparently the puppydog look works for Allison, lucky you. She talked to me today, you know? Like I mentioned it via text but it was weird, dude. Like she just came up and sat with me at lunch which, totally cool by the way, she's cute as hell, man. And she was all 'are you okay?' but she totally just wanted to ask about you. I gave her your number, did you get a text yet? Really? That's surprising, maybe she's being shy or like doing homework or family things, she seems like a person with a family. I was going to just invite her over today actually so she could just see how you were doing for herself but like, dude, you were attacked by a werewolf and it bit you and that's like the only thing everything google provided agreed on; if you gets the bite, you gets the claws. So dude, you're a fucking _werewolf._ "

Stiles, who was gasping for breath and had miraculously not clobbered anyone or -thing during that entire rambling mass of word vomit that naturally involved a great deal of flailing about, wasn't even surprised that Scott had sat through all of it without comment. They were best friends for a reason. But he was staring at her like his brain had short-circuited. Knowing dear old Scotty, he was probably thinking as much about the Allison information as the werewolf revelation. Her loveable dumbass of a BFF. With all of that off her chest, she settled in to wait for Scott. Or rather, she looked around in silence for half a minute, reached her limit when something caught her attention. Then she was rambling again, about the migratory habits of whales and then the code she was trying to fuss into functionality, followed by something about locusts for some reason. Probably because she talked about bugs in the code, although whales-to-code was a conundrum.

Functionality returned to Scott's brain before she could go off about something else, and he reached out to pinch her with absolutely no mercy. Stiles squawked, jerking away with the intention of protesting only to fall off the bed in a heap of long limbs and baggy clothes. In stunned silence she waited a few moments before popping up to scowl at her friend.

"What the hell was that for?" she snapped, but he was barely paying attention to her. While she was on the floor, he had pulled up his shirt to stare at his stomach again. This time Stiles waited in silence for him to use his words, taking the time to rearrange herself on the bed while he clearly sorted something out.

"I'm a werewolf," he finally breathed. "It's not a dream."

"Is that why you pinched me!?" she accused, gawping at him, prepared to scold him about the "that's not how it works"-ness of that. But he looked up at her with those huge, puppy dog eyes full of awe, cutting her off before she could even start.

"Allison was _worried_ about me?"

Stiles groaned and elected to simply collapse, propelling herself backwards into the bed as she wondered why she was friends with this dork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeeeeah that's chapter two which explains(sort of???) the new title. Title changes yay! Hopefully no particular confusion was had there. It's a dumb title yes but it popped into my head while editting this and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Aand this update took like...a week and a half? Bordering on two weeks? Eep. I'll try my very hardest to get an update up at least once a month. Also this might wind up going through all of season 1 and the parts of season 2 I feel like including even though it totally wasn't supposed to just because I have the ideas. If all goes as planned, this is going to be a stupidly long fic. And if I stick to my usual patterns, I will probably ramble a hell of a lot before and after every chapter...
> 
> Oh and there is a possibly exciting twist destined to pop up in...not too long so don't dismiss this as boring just yet yeah?
> 
> -flails at-
> 
> I'm sorry I'm basically Stiles I can't shut up ///I'msosorry//////


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate is a psychopathic werewolf, and the white knights are always just a little too late(and Stiles has good instincts that she should learn to listen to).
> 
>  
> 
> "Hello Stiles." She had previously thought her heart couldn't get any more out of control, but as that low croon whispered across her ear, she found her heart had more potential erraticness than she had given it credit for. Stiles tried to scream again, only to have it cut off by fingers tipped in delicate claws curving over her mouth. As she let out a string of muffled protests against the skin, a woman chuckled in her ear, leaning in close enough that Stiles could feel hot breath on her neck and the faint tickle of curls. Straining her eyes to the farthest corners of her vision, she let out a hysterical giggle into the hand.
> 
> The curls were _blond._
> 
> This was such bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always the middle of a story that gets me. I want to go through all the little bits and pieces I have floating around in my head. Honestly, I've been considering just going through all of Season 1; or rather, how it occured in this AU. Not that much has changed up until a certain point though, so I'm going to try and speed things along so we can get to the actual interesting stuff. Hopefully before everyone loses all interest in this because hey this is actually a pretty cool story I promise come back.
> 
> So think of the first two chapters as prologues, a set up for the relationships already established and whathaveyou.
> 
> I feel the need to reiterate the fact that Stiles is going to be a badass in this fic. Seriously, she's going to kick ass, I swear. She'll probably have damsel-in-distress moments, but more as a way of having it be a mutual saving deal than anything else. So if you like your Stiles distressed and damsel-y, this is probably not the fic for you. If you like your Stiles able to kick actual ass, then you'll probably enjoy this.
> 
> On another note, Megan Ory is my headcanon for Laura and who I picture for her.
> 
> Warning: Somewhat sexual assault and canon-typical violence. Kate's a psychotic bitch.

A month and a half after that fateful night in the woods, Stiles leaned back against the jeep in a silent parking garage to contemplate her own existence. Everything seemed _exceptionally_ complicated. Even if she ignored all that had happened on the full moon(which was impossible; she had barely even been able to stop thinking about it long enough to sleep for the past two weeks), her life seemed to be incredibly convoluted. Considering a mere two months ago her most exciting feature was her status as the daughter of the sheriff of a very small town, it was almost unbelievable that everything had become so exciting. Literally everything too, everything except Stiles herself. Stiles herself was still just the sheriff's daughter. Her biggest secret was still her name, since the werewolves were technically their own secret, and her greatest triumph was helping her best friend through Very Big Things even when he betrayed her and tried to eviserate her. She couldn't even be proud of that achievement; it actually made her feel like a chump how easily she'd forgiven Scott for everything. Even his sneering at her, mocking her for her clearly pointless love of Lydia Martin. The werewolf had stooped to mocking her sexuality, and all she'd done was shove a sock in his mouth before giving the chains a jerk to test their strength. They had been very strong chains. Even then she had failed, Scott running off into the night to have Allison do what Stiles had paid so much to even _try_ to do. Allison and Scott; a predictable relationship Stiles had no right to hate. In a lot of ways, they were good for each other. Scott the prince to Allison's Disney princess(a more accurate description for the girl was yet to show itself). Stiles personally thought Scott made a terrible prince, but it seemed Allison had no such qualms.

Maybe Allison wasn't as clever as Stiles gave her credit for.

Thinking anything remotely bad about the local Disney princess made Stiles feel like a monster. With a grimace, she derailed that train of thought before she could start thinking bad things about her best friend. It was pitifully easy to not yell at him for it all, to just let him blame it on the moon and his new wolfy half. She hadn't even had a chance to be angry in the first place; she had been so worried when she finally saw him at school that morning that she hadn't even yelled at him, just rejoiced that he was alive and so was eveyone else. By the time it had even occured to her to take her anger out on him, to rant about betrayals, he was telling her about Allison and the Hale siblings and all the things she had apparently missed out on during the full moon due to her driving around town trying to find his werewolf ass. 

Stiles was not bitter, she wasn't. It was probably--definitely--a good thing that she'd missed all the action. Unlike some people, she was a delicate, breakable little human. So even if she _was_ bothered by it(which she definitely, definitely wasn't) there was no point to it, it was stupid. She knew that, knew how stupid it was that she would _want_ to be in mortal peril just so she didn't get left out. But damn it all, he was her best friend, her _only_ friend. If she was moping because she felt like she was being slowly weeded out of his life, then that was her right. Except she wasn't moping, she _wasn't_ , so it didn't matter anyway. Really.

Fuck, this garage was creepy at night. Funny how she only noticed that after standing there not-moping for at least fifteen minutes. When she had been walking out to her jeep it hadn't seemed creepy. Not that she had been thinking much about the garage, too busy wondering how the hell this was her life. Still, it seemed like she should have noticed sooner how creepy it was. Though, maybe not; honestly, it was probably just the silence weighing down on her. She and silence had always had a strange, complicated relationship, in which sometimes she enjoyed finally having enough peace and quiet to get her thoughts in order, and yet spending fifteen minutes in a parking garage had her heart starting to pick up. Being scared of silence was right up there with being scared of the dark, when it came to ridiculousness. It was right up there with a fear of clowns or werewolves--both of which were actually pretty scary. As was what sounded like something small, a pebble maybe, bouncing on the ground somewhere in the parking garage.

Oh fuck it.

Stiles flung herself at the door, scrabbling to get the key in the lock. There was no one around to judge her for being scared of what was probably nothing. A stray pebble stirred by gravity, a twig blowing in the wind, maybe a nervous squirrel trying to get over his insomnia. _Nothing._ But she was gasping for air as her pulse shot from "fast-paced" to "hammering," her chest seeming to ache with the force of her heartbeat. In her panic, her mind somehow convinced itself that if she could just get in the car, lock the doors, she would be safe from whatever invisible monster was surely sneaking up on her right that second. Sucking in a sharp breath, Stiles clenched her teeth against the panic attack sudden;y hovering at the edges of her concious. There was a moment of triumph as the key decided to cooperate at last, sliding into the slot as if it hadn't been purposely fighting with her previously. Then there were claws raking down her back, gripping her by jeans and hoodie, and she screamed as she was yanked away from the jeep. Her hand tried to hang on to the keys, but convulsed on the way, leaving them to clatter to the ground right beside her only hope of escape.

That was... _unfortunate._

"Hello Stiles." She had previously thought her heart couldn't get any more out of control, but as that low croon whispered across her ear, she found her heart had more potential erraticness than she had given it credit for. Stiles tried to scream again, only to have it cut off by fingers tipped in delicate claws curving over her mouth. As she let out a string of muffled protests against the skin, a woman chuckled in her ear, leaning in close enough that Stiles could feel hot breath on her neck and the faint tickle of curls. Straining her eyes to the farthest corners of her vision, she let out a hysterical giggle into the hand.

The curls were _blond._

This was such bullshit.

"Clever, clever Stiles," the werewolf--Kate, her mind supplied suddenly, remembering a hushed conversation between the Hale siblings that she'd managed to eavesdrop on--spoke so close to Stiles that she found herself shuddering, unpleasantly, at the pout of full lips brushing against the tender flesh of her throat. "Kind, loyal, _smart._ No one appreciates you, do they, Stiles? They don't; I know, I've been watching you. I didn't expect some teenaged human to be as brave as you. None of them see you though, not like I do." A kiss was pressed just under her ear, teasing and dangerous. "They're blind to your value. I should have bitten you, Stiles. You're the real reason dear Scotty-boy is alive, but he's all wrapped up around Allison. That filthy mutt curling up with my _niece._ " Kate snarled, sending a streak of pure terror through Stiles to mingle with the constant thrum of fear, then she was back to murmuring intimately.

"You would make a good wolf, wouldn't you, Stiles?"

Her head dipped lower and Stiles whimpered as Kate mouthed at her throat, hot and breathy and wet and completely not-sexy. The absolute opposite of sexy, in fact. That mouth on her neck was the most terrifying thing Stiles had ever experienced, including Scott lunging at her on the full moon. That mouth was scarier than watching her mom wither away. At least Scott had the excuse of being out of control, and with her mom she had known what was happening every step of the way(even if she was only twelve and the doctors hadn't wanted her to know anything; her mom had insisted on keeping her informed, understanding her daughter as no one else could). This was--this was so much worse than any of that.

On the up side, she only had her own life to concern herself over in this instance. On the down side, that was actually inaccurate. Her dad would be absolutely _devestated_ if something happened to her, and Scott, well, Scott would probably wind up in a ditch somewhere, even with Allison there to keep tabs on him. With the two most important people in her life hanging in the balance as well, of course Stiles was freaking out. Admittedly, she also sort of valued her own life to some degree and thus self-preservation probably contributed to the fear at least somewhat. It was mostly the fear for her favorite people though, which said a lot about her that she wasn't willing to contemplate just then. Although she was about to die so maybe it was the perfect time to contemplate it. Or was it the perfect excuse not to?

Claws dragged over her sternum, catching in the fabric of her hoodie and tearing through the thick cloth without apparent effort, and for a moment all thoughts were silent, replaced by screaming that she tried to vocalize through the hand still over her mouth. Her shirt tore as the claws trailed lower, trailing down Stiles's stomach. Stiles whimpered, hands shoving desperately at Kate's arm, but the werewolf just laughed mockingly in her ear. The claws dipped, and Stiles felt tears rolling down her tears as she shrieked, the claws piercing her skin once there was no cloth left to get in the way. Kate laughed again, curling her fingers to dig her claws further into Stiles's stomach, clawing through her skin. She was going to die. In a creepy parking garage, a fucking werewolf was going to murder her.

The sheriff would be left all alone.

Stiles closed her eyes as guilt muddied the terror, the claws slowly sliding lower and deeper. It was her own damn fault. After everything, she probably deserved to go out like this, but her dad didn't deserve that, didn't deserve to lose the last family he had left. She was a terrible daughter, and a terrible friend, and now she would never have the chance to make up for it. Kate's hand pulled away. Even knowing she was still in the arms of a homicidal monster, Stiles relaxed slightly, breathing through her nose as deeply as possible. Her heart ached and her lungs burned, feeling deprived of oxygen, but she was alive to feel it still. Although she wondered, as Kate's claws trailed lightly over her newly exposed stomach, if she wouldn't be better off dying already, something quicker than what it was beginning to seem Kate had in mind. Stiles didn't want to die, but some instinct told her that it might just be a better alternative to this.

Kate's hand found hers and Stiles had just enough time to realize she was right, realize she had really not wanted to be right this time, and then she could hear her own bones breaking as Kate fondled her finger in an almost gentle-seeming grip. Stiles screamed again. She screamed quite a bit during the next few minutes, or maybe it was hours; it felt like hours, days even.

"Look," Kate breathed, finally pulling her hand from Stiles' mouth; she would have screamed, but she was too busy trying to gulp down air. She watched as the psychopath held her hands up next to Stiles's trembling, crooked fingers. As they both looked on, Kate reached out with her other hand, gripped one of her own fingers in an almost delicate hold, and broke it without so much as a wince or a moment's hesitation. Stiles choked down bile along with a sob at the sight. The sob broke free though as the finger began to mend itself. "Isn't it disgusting?"

Finally, Kate slipped from behind Stiles, moving instead to stand in front of her, gaze at her with imploring eyes, and Stiles finally got a good look at the bane of her existence. In an absolutely unfair twist of fate, Kate was beautiful. Fucking gorgeous, in a cougar sort of way. Her hair against her smooth tan skin looked positively pettable, and her mouth was as perfectly shaped as her sculted brows. Long lashes framed big, dark eyes, and even her nose seemed to be shaped perfectly to match the rest of her long face. It didn't seem right that someone so insane could look like a perfect big sister, but there were a lot of things lately that Stiles didn't think seemed right so maybe it was fitting.

"Do you want the bite, Stiles?" Kate crooned, delicately brushing her fingertips against the palms of Stiles's hands. Shivering with what was probably the onset of shock, Stiles could do nothing but stare for a few long moments, sucking down oxygen like a drowning man. But Kate was not a patient sort of alpha. As her fingers trailed slowly closer to Stiles's mangled fingers, a choked whimper broke free. God she wanted so bad to just not hurt anymore.

With tears blurring her vision, she looked Kate in the eye. They were dark and chocolatey, warm, like hot cocoa in the winter. Stiles wanted to like the owner of those eyes, wanted to pull her close and laugh with her about stupid things. How could her tormentor have those sorts of eyes?

Her breathing was coming out in short puffs, but that seemed as normal as she was going to manage with Kate holding her hands. Squaring her jaw, Stiles blinked away the lingering tears, even if that sent them spilling down her cheeks.

"No."

The statement was so clearly made that Stiles was proud of herself, proud of the lack of tremble in her voice, proud of how her gaze didn't waver or dart away. That feeling lasted only a moment, just until a hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off the flow of oxygen entirely before hurling her away like a child displeased by its ragdoll. The squeaking sound that broke inside Stiles's throat was almost worse than all the screams that had left her voice so hoarse. As she leaned against the concrete wall that had put an end to her brief exploration of flight, she wheezed, tried to clutch at her chest but wound up with her hands just hovering uselessly in the air. She didn't panic, knew better than to panic; she had had the wind knocked out of her before, she knew it would right itself soon enough, if she was patient. So she didn't panic, not until a foot smashed into her ribcage. Stiles couldn't even scream, she wasn't even sure she had any such loud sounds left. Choking on pain, she double over to cough and wheeze and let out a gurgling sob that splattered her jeans with blood.

"Don't lie to me, Stiles," Kate said in a conversational tone as she came to kneel down in front of Stiles. "Now, let's try this again. Do you, Stiles, want to be a werewolf?" Her smile was almost contagious, almost friendly. There was no madness in those dark eyes, just a glimmer of mischief and a spark that seemed almost like warmth. Their depths were cold though, Stiles noticed as she glared at them through her lashes.

Tearing her gaze away from Kate's, Stiles leaned over to spit a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. With movements as slow as mollases, she returned to leaned against the wall. A slow, painful smirk pulled at her mouth, and Stiles responded in a low, rough voice; "No."

For a moment Kate looked positively murderous, and then she threw back her head and laughed as if that was the greatest joke she had ever heard. Stiles watched mutely as she laughed and laughed and laughed, clutching at her stomach like the laughter was somehow going to come bursting from it. When the laughing abruptly cut off, Kate was still looking amused, but her gaze as it collided with Stiles's once more was positively predatory.

"Neither did I," she said. Leaning forward, Kate snatched up Stiles's arm and Stiles had only enough strength left for a mournful keen as Kate's teeth dug into her oh-so-human wrist.

Kate broke-- _tore_ \--away, leaning back to grin sadistically down at Stiles. She stroked her thumb over the bite like it was some sweet kiss-mark instead of a bloody mess.

"That fucking bitch, you know," she mused distantly. "I have to give it to her, she was clever. Even on fire, even with her family and home burning down around her, she had a streak of vengeance that even I can respect. Fucking _bit_ me while I was making my escape. I slit her throat for it, of course, but I almost lost that exchange. At least, until I realized the true potential. _My_ true potential, as a hunter, and all thanks to Mrs. Hale and her plans. It took a lot of practice to adapt my training to my new genetics. Surprising, I know, but I had to learn how to blend in too, and I had to hide it from my fucking _family._ Not that I could really hide it from them. So I had to run. From the very people who should be worshipping me for my sacrifice for the fucking _cause._ " Kate snarled at her memories, staring past Stiles as if she could see all the scenes playing out across the concrete. A hand had settled on Stiles's thigh while she spoke, and Kate curled her fingers to dig her claws into Stiles's thigh. The new points of pain barely registered.

Kate's attention returned to the presence to frown at Stiles, clearly displeased by Stiles's lack of enthusiasm. When her frowning ceased to garner a reaction from Stiles, she let out a sigh. "You're going to be an absolutely useless conversationalist for days, aren't you? How boring. Though, a nice reprieve from that endless chatter at the same time. Don't worry, I'll come pick you up before the full moon; can't have sweet little Laura and _Derek_ trying to drag you away before I properly welcome you into my pack, now can we, Stiles, darling?" Kate gave her a smile that belonged on screen, sweet and laughing and just a little wicked. Stiles had always loved smiles like that, hated seeing it twisted so much, but she didn't look away. She couldn't have, even if she was inclined to try. Her head hung there, lulled towards her right shoulder listlessly. Kate stood, finally, _finally_ turned her back. Stiles didn't even bother trying to be silent as she reached for the pocket of her hoodie. Thank fuck her fingers were largely numb by that point(or maybe she had just gotten used to the pain). Even if they weren't though, even if she hadn't, she thought she would still have gone through with it. Digging around a moment, Stiles actually managed a weak grin as she managed to curl her fingers awkwardly around a familiar round object. Thank you, internet, for always providing such clear instructions of even the most bizarre of tasks.

Strength seemed to form at the call of her stubborn resolve, surging into the muscles she needed it in. Stiles rolled her shoulder, drew back her arm, and flung the object at Kate. It burst open in a cloud of black dust and bits of dried plants, and then it was Kate's turn to scream as the wolfsbane attacked. Stiles let out a gurgling laugh, choked off when Kate's foot broke something in her leg, then let her head lull back and continued laughing. The sound was horrible even to her own ears, but she didn't have it in herself to care anymore. It was only her and Kate there any way, and if the sound disturbed Kate, then, well, _good._

Kate was snarling, standing over her, looking like she was going to finally put an end to Stiles's suffering. And Stiles, man, Stiles was fucking scared. Even laying there with pain wrapped like a prickly blanket around her, Stiles didn't want to die. In her current state though, there was nothing she could do but utter soft whimpers of protest as Kate took a looming step closer.

A roar ripped through the air, joined after a beat by a piercing howl. Kate jerked away, whipping around to glare in the direction the sounds had come from. They weren't too far off, by Stiles's reckon, but they weren't too close either. Not close enough, that is. At least, Stiles didn't think so, but Kate apparently disagreed. No surprise there; Stiles probably wasn't in any position to even try making educated guesses. Pretty face twisted into an ugly grimace, Kate backed away, still glaring towards where the howls had already died down. She turned to bare her teeth at Stiles in a grin.

"Well, that's all for now, sweetheart," she purred, continuing to back away despite the bravado. "You'll be seeing me again though, don't you fret." Kate smirked, then she was gone. Stiles finally let her eyes close and slid down the wall, listing to one side. Her head knocked jarringly against the concrete, but she ignored it, too busy taking advantage of the reprieve she'd finally gotten. Maybe she could take a nice nap. That sounded good to her, honestly, now that there were no more homicidal psychopaths around. 

She spoke too soon apparently though, as she heard someone--or was it several someones?--clattering their way closer. Metal screamed a protest as a car incurred damage, accompanied by a slam and the brittle crack of concrete suffering. Stiles was far too tired to be scared, her adrenaline having worn down completely and left her wanting nothing more than to be left alone to die in peace. No wait, she didn't want to die. Right? Suddenly she couldn't remember, and when she tried to scrunch her face in concentration the pain skyrocketed. Retaliation for her daring to think of anything else, no doubt.

"KATE!" The roar echoing through the garage thankfully saved her from any further contemplation on the subject. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and a faint tug of memory in the back of her mind suggested she knew who it belonged to. But she was too busy trying to block out awareness of anything and everything to put any real effort into figuring it out. She listened absently to three(maybe?) people running through the garage, inhaling deeply and noisily as they went along. Which, she hypothesized since it was an easy leap to make, meant they were werewolves. She couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing until she heard a woman gasp nearby.

"Stiles?" and then Scott's voice, in a shout, "Stiles!"

He ran towards her, cussing, and she did her best friend the favor of opening her eyes so she could peer at him. The light hurt her eyes, even though they hadn't been closed particularly long. Some part of her wondered if she had managed to embrace the darkness in that short time.

A hand found her shoulder, started to roll her onto her back, causing her ribs to shift in a completely unnatural fashion. Stiles choked on an agonized sound that would have been another scream if she had any screams left in her. She curled protectively into herself, coughing blood onto the concrete as Scott and whatever woman was with him both cursed some more.

"Kate bit her." That was Derek's voice, irritatingly calm, though it held a thread of some emotion she couldn't identify. In fact, his voice sounded harsher than usual, in a way that Stiles didn't much like. But that seemed complicated, so she didn't think about it. If that was Derek though, then, was the woman Laura? It seemed likely; the Hale siblings seemed to rarely be apart, save for that day in the woods with Scott's inhaler.

"We need to take her to Deaton's," Laura said and hold up, wasn't Deaton the vet? Why couldn't Stiles go to a hospital? She must have been whining her protests out loud since a slim hand was on her cheek a moment later, petting her soothingly. It felt like Kate's hand though, and she jerked away, eyes flying open(when had they closed again?) even though she _knew_ Kate had left. She wheezed, trying to gasp for air and managing only to gurgle and choke and cough some more. Her hands flew up to cup over her mouth automatically, as if they could force the coughing to stop if they only pushed down hard enough. Scott whined, and it was Derek's turn to curse.

"What the fuck did she do to you, Stiles?" Scott whimpered, and his well-known hands caught her wrists, dragging them away from her mouth so she would stop hurting herself. Funny, she hadn't even realized her fingers were hurting more than before until he stopped her.

Stiles rasped out a humorless laugh, staring at him through watery eyes. "...told you...'ose bombs would...work," she managed to get out, though she had to breath between every word and her voice sounded all wrong. It seemed like she should tell him that, like he just needed to know. "Her turn...t' scream." Her head was lulling, and her eyes seemed to have closed again, but she needed to tell him this. "More in my roo...room. Use. Gotta kill her, Scotty...bitch is...cray-cray..." Ha. Okay so not her funniest line but she cracked a smile, and she heard Scott let out a short bark of laughter, though she suspected he was just humoring her. Making her feel better before she died. Oh hey that was a depressing thought.

"I'm taking her to Deaton's," Derek stated, and then his arms were sliding under her, scooping her up even when she cried out and flailed at him in response to the sudden spike in pain levels. She leaned her head against his shoulder though, and somehow everything seemed to hurt just a little less. He was just as warm and solid as she had suspected. The sound of his heart beating steadily under her ear comforted her, soothed her own panicking heart, and she decided to tune out Scott's protests(why was he protesting anyway?) in favor of focusing on that firm beat. His heart drowned out everything else. Stiles sighed in relief, settling almost comfortably against him as her conciousness slipped away without any further thoughts of death to keep it occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-fucking-da! I need to edit the tags soon because this is going to be the slowest romance to ever romance. I might add a werewolf!stiles tag even though I sort of want that to be a surprise...whatever. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Feedback is much appreciated--and I'm sorry Kate hurt Stiles, I promise fluff in the future to make up for it.
> 
> I feel like apologizing for my writing but I'm going to resist the urge. I tried to draw it out some. Hopefully it was cringe-worthy but not overly graphic, etc etc.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look, Stiles is a werewolf! If I titled my chapters, this one would be "Waking Up Wolf." I'm not feeling clever enough for a better summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some rape-y/non-con undertones(overtones? implications) and inappropriate bad-touch touching, and a serious abuse of commas and italics.
> 
> Seriously how do I tag/rate/warn this I don't even know somebody tell me if you think I should add something and I will.

Being unconcious is a lot like sleeping except a lot more irritating. More specifically, drifting in and out of conciousness is irritating. It was like waking up endlessly but being unable to fully claw through the darkness and into actual wakefulness. Stiles hated it. Not because she didn't enjoy the sleep; hell, she was pretty sure she had more than earned herself some goddamn rest. No, the part that sucked was being completely and totally unable to tell anyone off. And there were a shocking amount of people who needed to be told off, as well as a few that she was half desperate to comfort.

"She's fighting the bite." That was Deaton's voice, accompanied by low growls that seemed to come from everywhere around her and went on and on and on. She really wished she could tell them to shut up. The sound grated on her ears mercilessly, digging claws into her throat and heart, but she could do nothing to stop it. "Her body is rejecting the change. Or at least, it's trying to. She's not dead yet, but--" and, before she could even start thinking up snarky remarks, she was drifting out again. Another irritating aspect of this whole unconcious(well, semi-unconcious. Parttime unconciousness. Heh; she finally got a parttime job afterall)-ness _thing_.

"She's sweating. Is that supposed to happen?" Scott was whining, hovering somewhere nearby though he wasn't touching her. At least, she assumed he wasn't; she couldn't feel him touching her, though she supposed she might be numb. That seemed like the sort of thing to accompany wavering conciousness in all honesty. "We should never have let this happen." Scott sounded like he was accusing someone, but he also sounded terribly guilty. Poor puppy. Stiles tried to reach out to him, tried to comfort him, but even as she heard Laura start to respond she was drifting off again.

"What the hell happened, Scott!?" Her dad. Oh god, he sounded so angry. His blood pressure was probably going through the roof. In fact, she could almost swear that she could hear his heart going mad. Oh good, she was going insane _and_ she couldn't wake up. Fantastic. Scott was whining, right in her ear, which was when she realized he was carrying her. No, no, stop it, Dad. It wasn't Scott's fault. Stiles wanted to tell them that, really she did. Her body had other ideas though, and it was back into the darkness with her. At least she didn't dream. Something told her that her dreams would be far, far worse than this subtle torment.

"I can't tell if she's improving." Derek, gruff as ever. Angry over a puzzle he couldn't figure out. Poor sourwolf. Hey wait, why was he still here if she wasn't at Deaton's anymore? She was pretty sure she wasn't at Deaton's at least, since she had heard her dad and all. Was Derek in her room? What the hell, man?(With no one to talk to, at least no one who could hear her, Stiles was giving in to the urge to just talk to herself. Much less fun, honestly.)

"She is, Der-bear. Look; she's almost healed, see?" Stiles could definitely feel someone pulling up her shirt. Oi. Hey. Privacy, please. Okay so Stiles really didn't care about privacy but they didn't know that. Scott squawked a protest, and her shirt was yanked back down. What a good friend. Defending her honor and all that jazz. Laura didn't seem to respond to Scott's protest, other than allowing him to cover her back up, or if she did it wasn't anything she could hear. "It's going slow, but it's a lot faster than a human. You heard Deaton; maybe it's different for someo..." Ohp. Back to sleep apparently. Stiles was starting to get used to that.

"I have been very patient," her dad's growl had her stirring again. Mentally, at least; she still couldn't so much as open her eyes. "Expla..." Oh that was a short one. Oh well.

"She's fully healed," Scott was whining again. Her best friend whined an awful lot.

"Oh god, Stiles," Allison's croon was pure music, the soft hand over Stiles' arm soft and cool.

"Why isn't she waking up?" Scott was sounding frantic. Allison drew away, murmuring comforting noises as she went to her boyfriend.

"These things take time, Scott," Laura soothed, sounding confident, like she knew what she was talking about. Stiles was pretty sure that was bullshit, but Scott didn't protest so she figured it was convincing enough for the adorable idiot. "Just be patient..."

It wasn't long(at least, it didn't feel long) after that when she learned that she had been right; she had been lucky not to dream. Surprisingly, she didn't dream of the parking garage, of pain and dying and teeth digging in to her flesh. In her dreams she was a hunter, a predator. She was beautiful and lithe and powerful. In the dream, the world was at her fingertips, and she laughed at all the little ants scurrying away below her. Not literally, but she knew that was how it was, figuritively. She was the monster in the shadows, under the bed, behind the closet door. The boogeyman. It felt _good._ It felt liberating. It felt, somehow, like flying over the ocean, or maybe like swimming through lava. It was a heady feeling, either way, liberating, even as fire ran through her veins. Stiles wanted to throw up, but in the dream she just laughed and prowled-- _danced_ \--through the trees, relishing the feeling of fire as much as the power. She peered out of the forest, and there was her prey, delicate and soft and with the prettiest hair, mouse brown. _How appropriate,_ Stiles thought but how, how could she think that? What was wrong with her!? Even as she panicked internally, she was moving forward, closer to the girl, a grin curling her lips. This was fun. This was _fun._ Stiles wanted to throw up. She wanted to run away. She wanted to scream and cry and hit something, _do_ something, but all she could do was watch as her hand(her hand didn't look like that, what happened, who was she, _Who am I?_ ) reached out and--

"She should be awake by now." Deaton had a frown in his voice, and she had never been happier to hear him. If she could have, she would have kissed him for saving her from that. In fact, when she woke up-- _when_ , not if, no matter what they thought; she was going to wake up--she was definitely kissing him. She heard vaguely him saying something about patience and unpredictableness but she didn't listen, too busy processing that dream. Hoping it wouldn't happen again.

Why did she even bother hoping for things anymore?

This time Stiles fell deeper into the dream, deeper into _her_ , until there was no Stiles. There was only the hunt.

The predator stretched luxuriously, feeling the power ripple through her. She tilted back her head, pointing her long nose skyward for a howl that shook the earth. Seemed to, at least. It stirred a few prey from their peaceful slumber, tinging the air with the delectable scents of terror. As the vermin scurried away, an owl took off, electing for easier hunting grounds with less competition. Even scaring a mere owl pleased her. But it didn't satisfy her, not at all. She wanted something far more powerful to cower before her, to try and flee. 'Try' being the operative word; she would never allow another of her prey to escape. Soon, very soon, they wouldn't even have the chance.

In the mean time, she turned to the prey that would have to suffice, would have to serve to dull her bloodlust, even if they could never hope to fully assuage it. Her legs stretched and carried her away, dragging scents into her lungs as she searched, hunted for her prey. There were stragglers here and there, despite county-wide warnings about "animal attacks," but none of them suited the predator's taste. Too easy. Too fat. Too...ugly. _Too male,_ some part vaguely noted, a part that barely existed. They all just seemed much too _male._ With a few exceptions, but the predator was loathe to sink to the level of biting males, subconciously rejecting them as unworth for various reasons. Then they found her, found their prey. Oh but she was perfect. This one was a beautiful one. Not as beautiful as the predator, of course, but beautiful nonetheless, with copper curls that shone in the moonlight, and a smirk that was confident and attractive. Something, the something that had made the note about males, deep down clawed to be free, screaming _no, no, NO!_ but the predator didn't care. The predator probably didn't even hear it, hear the all-consuming protestation voiced by the something that was beginning to feel like a tick, a fly on the wall of insanity. She inhaled, scenting the air, and strawberries drifting into her senses. And--ah, wasn't that interesting? It was just a hint, the barest tint of scent, but the puppy was _interested_ in this girl, this lovely child. How...convenient.

The predator smiled when the redhead screamed. This one didn't need discipline like the puppy, so she simply pushed her into the leaves, almost embarrassed to be so carelessly messy. The predator could appreciate the amount of work that went into those waves of soft curls. Now they were mussed by leaves and dirt, ruined until further notice. But no matter; they could be rearranged. The predator, _hunter_ had rearranged her own locks often enough to know that. Without preamble, she leaned down and buried her teeth into the base of the girl's throat, listening distantly to the child's sobbing. There was no need to linger, not when this was no longer about the hunt, about prey. But her first puppy had run away, and the predator was still trying to exert her will on the frustrating pup. This time she would make sure, _this_ puppy would know properly who she belonged to. She withdrew her fangs, lapped at the bite in an almost soothing fashion. Then she stroked her hands down a soft, pale body, gently slicing through cloth to pet what was hers. What _would_ be hers, soon enough. The predator rubbed against the redhead's belly, leaving her scent so no one would question who this child belonged to. She traced her tongue over her soon-to-be pet's mouth, though it was pressed tight against anything more fun. That would change soon. The predator, satisfied with her taste and with the knowledge her pack would be grown by the time her true prey caught up, stood and wandered off. _The puppy will be so pleased. Finally able to touch her pretty crush._

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Stiles jerked out of bed with a gasp. Blankets were flung off in a hasty scramble to get up, to run, to _fight._ None of her limbs were working properly though, and there were _so many blankets._ Seriously, who in their right mind put that many blankets on a bed? She snarled at them, but then she was whimpering and whining as she struggled with blankets. She couldn't even defeat _linens._ The sound of cloth tearing was so loud that Stiles tried to jerk away from it, letting out a yelp as she promptly fell out of bed. A short keen of frustration escaped, and she collapsed there on the floor, all tangled up, to catch her breath. The door to her bedroom burst open(and hey wasn't that neat; she was in her bedroom after all!) with a **bang!** that shook her skull. With the accompanying rush of air, new scents invaded her nostrils, overpoweringly, impossibly strong, turning the throb of pain from the bang into a full-blown headache. Stiles yelped again, snarled at overly loud footsteps and a voice that grated on her eardrums. She couldn't even make out the words, though maybe that was because her own heartbeat seemed to be drowning herself out. But that was impossible, right?

Stiles thrashed, twisting, and then she was free of the blankets. It shocked her, to have all her limbs free and to _finally_ be able to _move_ , but she didn't waste time trying to appreciate it. Without a backwards glance, she lunged at the window, already conveniently open, and threw herself out into the night. She landed on her feet, a twinge of pain barely registering, and she was running, sprinting with all of her might.

Where was she going? The thought stirred her sluggish mind but her legs didn't slow. _Hey, hey, back up; where_ am _I going?_

Strawberry blond curls splayed over the grass. The scent of blood and terror. _The puppy will be so pleased._

Her course jerked to the side, nostrils flaring as her instincts grabbed at finer details of the dream she hadn't conciously noticed. The smell of trees and dry dirt. A tendril of roses almost hidden by the strawberry scent. Again that unknown _something_ pushed at her, pointed and shouted incoherently in the back of her mind, and she altered her course again even as she went leaping over fences and barreling through backyards. A howl ripped through the air, but she ignored it. There were more important things at hand.

Stiles found her exactly where she had (subconciously) expected she would. A few dozen meters behind the Martin's house, with it prim-and-proper rose bushes, Lydia Martin was trying to crawl her way to safety. Stiles whined. There was still blood leaking from the horrible gash at Lydia's throat, trickling into the grass and staining the dirt. That dirt would be stained for years, whined that part of her that Stiles still refused to ponder. The redhead's breathing was shallow and wheezing, and when she looked up at Stiles there was something missing in her eyes. No, there was _a lot_ missing in her eyes, everything that made up Lydia saved for a gleam of sharp intelligence had been replaced by fear and death.

"Lydia," Stiles whimpered. "Oh god, _Lydia_." Lydia sobbed in relieve at the sound of a familiar voice, a chance at rescue, or at least not dying utterly alone. Without paying her own words any attention, Stiles took up a steady stream of comforting nonsense, murmured low and soothing, as she leaned down to scoop Lydia up as gently as she could. Lydia put up a weak protest, trying to push her away, but then she was limp and that was so much worse.

Stiles ran some more. The every pair of eyes in the waiting room turned as she burst into the ER. Lydia had stopped breathing only moments before, and God(if there was a god), if Stiles was too late...

" _Help_ ," Stiles sobbed. There was shouting then, and people rushing about, arms taking Lydia's limp body and bodies blocking Stiles' view. It didn't matter, she could hear them, hear their shouts of "stop the bleeding!" and "she's not breathing!" Heard someone cursing as they starting CPR, snarling at someone else to stop the bleeding. After a moment she realized it was Mrs. McCall and Stiles knew that Mrs. McCall would fix everything, somehow. The woman had always felt like Stiles' second mom, though she hadn't said that outloud since her mom died, had felt too guilty. But Melissa would fix this, save Lydia. Stiles trusted her.

Her knees buckled as she finally allowed herself to relax, just a smidge, but apparently all she had been running on was pure adrenaline and determination. Someone shouted again, and she passed out even as someone caught her, saving her from braining herself on the tile which was really pretty nice of them, all things considered. Her last thought was, for some reason, _I wonder if Lydia will let me steal some of her hospital pudding?_

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Lydia Martin did allow her to steal her hospital pudding. Or rather, when Stiles walked in, Lydia shoved the pudding in Stiles' face and demanded someone bring her some real-people food before she turned homicidal. Hospital food was not up to Lydia's standards. Despite the fact that Lydia could barely speak, her parents, Jackson, an officer probably there to take her statement or something, and a nurse somehow caught up in it all, all looked fairly terrified of her. Stiles just grinned, because this was something she could do; pander to the ministrations of Lydia Martin.

"Want me to get you some soup from somewhere?" Stiles offered. Technically she wasn't supposed to be driving yet, but technically she was also supposed to still be in bed. She had climbed out of the window again, this time without alerting anyone in the house soon enough to stop her, and driven back to the hospital. Derek and Laura's black Camaro had tailed her there, but none of the wolves tried to stop her. Since this was the first time she had woken up since passing out at the hospital, she hadn't talked to any of them yet, but she had needed to see Lydia alive and safe for herself. And she found that she didn't really want to talk to anyone who knew what had happened to her, not yet. Not ever, if she could put it off that long. No, actually, scratch that; she was dying to talk to her dad and Scott. She just really didn't want to talk about Kate.

Lydia's head whipped around like a fucking viper, and she fixed Stiles with a glare that could wither plants. Stiles flinched back, cowering automatically under that look. So what if she was a big bad werewolf now and Lydia was still(for whatever reason) a human? Lydia would always cow Stiles to some degree. The glare turned calculating, one brow climbing for a moment before Lydia's expression turned haughty. It was good to see the queen again. Pointing at Stiles, Lydia ran off an order along with a restaurant("Do you know where it is?" "Yes," said meekly. "Good.") then turned those dagger eyes on the nurse, as if daring her to challenge Lydia's choices.

Stiles, despite everything, turned to give the poor woman a questioning look.

"Those should all be safe for her to eat," the nurse stated, sounding more confident than she looked. Stiles grinned. Of course they did; Lydia was prepared for all situations always. But considering the circumstances, Stiles had felt confirmation from a medical proffessional necessary.

Reaching down, she gave Lydia's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll be back soon," she promised, giving Lydia what she hoped was her most reassuring, confident smile, then she was jogging out of the room and down the hall. Her limbs felt less gangly now, less all over the place. It was weird to not have her feet constantly getting all tangled up, to not be accidentally swatting things out of the air whenever she talked. And even though she hadn't done a lot of talking or walking yet, she knew she wouldn't have to worry so much about that happening anymore. That was sort of liberating, although it scared the fuck out of her too because that was who she was. She was the flaily, spastic, ADD teenager with too-long limbs and too-big hands and a skill for sticking her foot in her mouth or tripping over thin air. But what was worse was her head. Her head felt...normal. Not all jumbly and chaotic and buzzing around from subject to subject like a drunken bumblebee. It still seemed overly stuffed with ideas, and she lost track of them sometimes when she ran off too far in another direction, but there was a certain order to everything. It was better than adderall by a long shot, and she loved it, loved finally being able to really focus on things without completely hyper-focusing on whatever little detail caught her attention next. But she hated it too. It was change, a change she had neither chosen nor, in all honesty, wanted. Everything was new and different and she felt like she had to relearn herself, had to figure out all the things she had known to be permanent truths up until Kate bit her. Stiles wasn't ready for that yet, wasn't ready to face the wolf, so she ignored the Camaro loitering indiscreetly nearby and climbed into the jeep, driving off to get Lydia Martin's order. See? Not everything was different. She was still in love with Lydia Martin at least.

But something about that thought sat wrong. Just a little twinge of doubt. But that twinge of doubt seemed like it was the most terrifying thing in Stiles' life right then, so she shoved it away, ignored its existence with all of her stubborn might. Some things would always be truths. She and Scott were the bestest of friends, Stiles' dad would never get over his late wife, and Stiles Stilinski loved Lydia Martin. So long as those three things remained true, Stiles would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how Kate could smell that Stiles had a crush on Lydia do not ask me. Also I don't think Stiles has a problem with the idea of the sheriff being in a relationship, not really, it just seems like the sort of truth she can count on? I dunno. Things went a bit wibbly at the end there. My usual beta reader(AKA my best friend who I shove my stories at and whine at incessantly) isn't online and I just want to post this because I want to start working on the next chapter soon. Hopefully it's not terribly awkward and I didn't miss any blaringly obvious mistakes. I'm hoping the next chapter will have more interactions of a non-violent nature. I was going to get some in on this chapter but it seemed like it wrapped itself up? I dunno. It's way shorter than I wanted any of my chapters to be but there you have it.
> 
> Oh! Thank you everyone who has commented/kudos'd/read/anything this! Your support is much appreciated(read: I squeal like a four-year-old girl on a regular basis and my besty says "I told you it was good" and then I hide under the blankets and squeal some more). I hope not to disappoint. This doesn't really have any point to it though; it's mostly just me typing out random crap that pops into my head. Some of the scenes or just...things are pretty inspired by various other fics, usually just in that I recreate tiny little parts of a situation for a bit of a laugh or the like, or just because I unconciously pick up bits here and there and make it part of my headcanon. My headcanon says a lot of canon is dumb and we're not going to do that so expect a lot of divergence. I mean, obviously. Stiles is a girl and a werewolf and stuff. But still. I feel like I need to warn you all off at the end of every chapter asdfghj
> 
> Oh and technically I am artistically inclined so I may fling art at this willy-nilly I dunno

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Actual Opposite of Fluff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/886809) by [OneSmartChicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSmartChicken/pseuds/OneSmartChicken)




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